


The New Me

by ishouldwritethatdown



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Fluff, M/M, Trans!Finch, Transboy!Finch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:30:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishouldwritethatdown/pseuds/ishouldwritethatdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a little drabble of trans!finch cuteness that i was prompted to write by my wonderful friend vegas. nothing serious or particularly planned, just some fun fluffy stuff</p>
            </blockquote>





	The New Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mixterhodgins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixterhodgins/gifts).



Harold pushed his glasses up his nose as he observed himself in the mirror. He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants for the thousandth time.

“Harold,” he said to himself, quietly, almost inaudibly. “Harold. Harold.” He gained a little volume and a little confidence with each repetition. With a deep breath, he said finally, clearly, “My name is Harold Finch.”

He heard his dad call from downstairs, “Harry, your friend is here!”

Harold wiped his hands on his pants. Again. Only poking his head out of his room, he yelled back, “Just send him up, Dad!” He looked at the mirror again. The person standing there was awkward and lanky; the clothes he’d borrowed from John were a little too big. But at least they were his. And at least his ponytail looked alright. As good as his hair could look without chopping it all off, anyway…

He stared into his own eyes and whispered, “Harold Finch.”

There was a polite knock on his door. When Harold gave the go-ahead, it swung open and John entered, smiling brightly.

Harold bit his lip and held onto the sleeves of his sweater. He blocked out the thoughts of looking silly with a confident assertion that this was the first step to being himself.

“You look good!” John complimented genuinely, admiring Harold’s mismatched and misfitting outfit.  
“I don’t think you really did grow out of this sweater,” Harold smiled, demonstrating how the sleeves flopped over his hands. John had grown out of the pants two years ago, but the sweater was one he only claimed was too small for him. It was actually just the soft one that Harold liked, but John was more than happy to forfeit a comfy sweater for his boyfriend’s happiness.

John chuckled and gently took Harold’s arms. “You look cute though,” he said sheepishly.

Harold smiled, filled with gratitude. He touched his forehead to John’s. All he could think was that his blue eyes would mix with John’s green ones to make a beautiful ocean kind of colour.

“You look very handsome with your hair tied back like that,” John said, so softly that his breath barely brushed Harold’s face.

Harold beamed, taking pride that the fifteen minutes he’d spent making it perfect hadn’t gone to waste. “I wish I had hair like yours,” he lamented.

John ran a hand through it self-consciously. It was a little messy, as he’d been more worried about being late than fixing his hair. “Did you read any new books this week?” he asked. He’d discovered it was usually best to divert the conversation whenever Harold got too fixed on his appearance.

Harold’s face shifted into a completely different mode, brightening up. He sat down on his bed and plucked the top two books on a pile beside his bed that was rapidly climbing to match the height of his nightstand. He began animatedly talking about the books and what he thought of the overall message as well as how the structure could have been improved.

John was always fascinated by how Harold’s mind worked. He loved listening to what he thought, and he got so excited about literature that it was entertaining to watch. Every so often Harold would catch him gazing with hearteyes and blush, pushing his glasses up his nose.

When Harold had given his thoughts on the books – two very similar concept handled in decisively different ways – John talked about Shaw finally being allowed on the baseball team again; she’d been banned after she punched Martine Rousseau in the face and broken her nose. Eventually, though, Coach Hersh decided the team just couldn’t do without Shaw.

“Did she punch anyone else yet?”

“No, but she tripped Lambert over for being a sleaze to Root after the game,” John recalled fondly.

Harold made a face which perfectly communicated the look that meant “does Shaw really expect us to believe that she wouldn’t kill a man for Root?” John just laughed.

As it always did when they were together, time flew by. When John had to leave, they had an argument of competitive politeness when Harold tried to return John’s sweater.

“John, I can’t just steal your sweater.”

“You’re not stealing it. I’m giving it to you. It’s a gift.”

Harold was conflicted between keeping the sweater and making John take it back. His scrunched-up face made John grin.

John kissed Harold on the forehead. “Handsome Harold Finch. Yep, that’s my boyfriend.”

Harold went red enough to contend with a firetruck and covered his face with the sweater. When he recovered enough to emerge from the cosy fabric, he pecked John on the cheek in return. “I love you, John.”

John smiled, his eyes taking on that softness they always did when Harold was just existing too hard. “I love you too, Harold.”

Harold. I am Harold. Harold Finch.


End file.
